


A Certain Depth of Feeling

by childrenofthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Angst with a Happy Ending, Consent under Duress, Demons Made Them Do It, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Sex Pollen, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-05 21:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: Crowley has proven himself to be unpunishable by traditional means, so Hell has to get creative.And what better way to drive a wedge between the traitor and his precious angel than to make sure that Aziraphale never wants to go near him again?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Определенная глубина чувств](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278111) by [fandom Nastoyashee Sveklo 2020 (WTF_Nastoyashee_Sveklo_2020)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Nastoyashee_Sveklo_2020/pseuds/fandom%20Nastoyashee%20Sveklo%202020)

> Hi everyone, this is Sunny! I've been writing fanfic for over a decade, but this is my first foray into the Good Omens fandom. I've loved the book for years, but David Tennant and Michael Sheen's beautiful portrayals of Aziraphale and Crowley are what's really gotten my typing fingers itching recently.
> 
> This is a fill for the Good Omens kinkmeme over on DreamWidth. Original prompt here: https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=582248#cmt582248

Crowley let out a satisfied hum as he took a sip of the Riesling Spätlese he'd just been served, savouring the sharp, strong scent of apple, underscored by a faint honeysuckle sweetness. He'd been making his way through the wine menu for the past few hours, seated by himself at a corner table in an admittedly pretentious restaurant - not out of any sense of moroseness, you understand, but to ensure that the wine menu was up to Aziraphale's exacting standards before Crowley brought him there.  
  
Only the best for his angel.  
  
All right, maybe Crowley _was_ feeling a smidge morose, if only for the fact that Armageddon hadn't happened almost a month prior, and his relationship with Aziraphale hadn't changed even the slightest.   
  
Crowley had been in love with that contradictory, indulgent, _beautiful_ angel for millennia now (approximately since he'd admitted to giving away a certain flaming holy sword), but had been careful not to push his luck in admitting the depth of his feelings. Careful not to go _too fast_. He wasn't dense - he knew that the angel felt the same way, it was just that his ingrained prejudices made it a lot harder to admit it to himself, let alone Crowley. And Crowley was fine with that, really, he was. He'd accepted a long time ago that Aziraphale wasn't ready yet to hear Crowley say that he'd loved the angel since the dawn of humanity. It was fine. Really.  
  
He'd just expected _something_ to change after they'd averted the Apocalypse.  
  
To be fair, though, Crowley hadn't exactly instigated any discussion on the subject since then. He'd become rather gun-shy about attempting to open up about his feelings after the whole holy water business, and had defaulted to letting Aziraphale take the lead. Unfortunately, Aziraphale seemed entirely content to let things continue as they were, ad infinitum. The angel had always been more than a little stuck in his ways, finding comfort in tradition.  
  
Still. Crowley could ease him into it, couldn't he? Now that they were no longer beholden to a higher (or lower, in Crowley's case) power. Surely now that the threat of divine retribution had abated somewhat, Aziraphale would be all right with Crowley holding his hand. They could even pretend that it was entirely platonic, if that was what Aziraphale still needed.  
  
Yes, that could work. Crowley had gotten astoundingly good at pretending over his many years on Earth. He could feign intoxication, give himself an excuse to lean into Aziraphale's warm bulk when they left the restaurant, sling an arm across the angel's shoulders. He could very easily pass that off as contact out of necessity, rather than desire. Crowley frowned mullishly at the half-empty wine glass before him. He'd have to sober up before they got back to the car, though, he realised. There was no way that Aziraphale would let him drive them anywhere whilst drunk.  
  
His frown deepened, twisting the stem of his glass between his fingers. He'd have to think of something else.  
  
"Crowley."  
  
He looked up at the grating whine of his name being spoken, only to find that Beelzebub had already slid into the seat across from him. The fly on their head was hidden under an improbably large hat that probably would have attracted more attention than the fly alone would have. Whatever the case, Beelzebub had, through some demonic intervention, ensured that all eyes were turned away from their corner of the restaurant.  
  
"Beelzebub," Crowley greeted cordially, taking a measured sip before miracling up a second glass and holding it out towards them. "Wine? No?" he asked, then shrugged when Beelzebub's pale eyes didn't shift away from his face, pouring the wine into his own glass. "To what do I owe this displeasure?"  
  
"Thizzz has gone on long enough, Crowley. I will not zzztand for your continued inzzzubordination."  
  
"Don't work for you anymore," Crowley pointed out, taking an impolitely large gulp of wine. He wasn't worried about getting drunk and impairing his judgement; he'd sobered himself up just before starting on his current glass of wine, and he'd need to drink a lot more before he started making bad decisions due to alcohol.  
  
He might well make some bad decisions all on his own, but that was beside the point.  
  
"Holy water may not have done anything to you, but you must zzztill be… _punizzzhed_."  
  
Crowley took another languid sip, hooking one leg over the arm of his chair in flagrant violation of the refined atmosphere of the restaurant. "And how, exactly, do you plan on doing that? Like you said, your little failed execution attempt wasn't anything but a nice, relaxing bath for me." He smiled, cupping his Riesling lazily. "You can't touch me."  
  
The wine suddenly tasted sour in his mouth when Beelzebub just smiled back. "Oh, it'zzz not _me_ I'd be worried about touching, if I were you," they said, voice a little too discordant to be considered a purr. Something inside Crowley clenched when he realised the sour aftertaste wasn't his body reacting to the demonically gleeful expression on his former boss' face, but because something about the wine itself had intrinsically changed.   
  
Beelzebub had done something to it.  
  
Frantically, Crowley miracled himself sober, but it was already too late. The sour taste lingered, coating his tongue, pushing down his throat and sending burning heat racing down his limbs. He gasped, doubling over in his chair, glass dropping from nerveless fingers. "What-" he choked, the heat coalescing somewhere low in his abdomen, radiating an all-consuming _need_ all the way out to his fingertips. He gripped tight at the edge of the table, head bowed, struggling to draw breath that he didn't actually need.  
  
Beelzebub's hand sank into his hair and yanked his head upright, cruel smile stretching their thin lips. The clatter of cutlery and the soft murmur of the restaurant's other patrons sounded so far away. "You never were a very good demon, Crowley. Or a bad one, azzz it were." Beelzebub tutted. "Alwayzzz so _compazzzionate_. You're a demon, you shouldn't care about anyone's _feelings_." Crowley tried to lean up into Beelzebub's grip, alleviate some of the pressure on his scalp. The other demon's fingers just tightened, their other hand clamping down on Crowley's shoulder to keep him from rising. Crowley slithered out of his seat, knees buckling involuntarily. The fire kept raging within him, clawing away at his metaphysical insides.  
  
"What've you done to me?" Crowley forced the words out through stiff lips.  
  
"I'm zzzimply reminding you of your true nature," Beelzebub said, all faux-innocence. "You and your _preciouzzz_ angel."  
  
Crowley went very, very, still, finally able to put a name to the heat surging through his veins. "No-"  
  
"After all," Beelzebub continued, giving him that sticky, sickly smile again, "If you want the angel _zzzo badly_, why don't you just go ahead and _take him_?"


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale was worried.  
  
He knew it was probably nothing, that the gnawing anxiety that had been eating away at him the past few days was probably just a by-product of the tension of that whole saving the world lark the month before. But…  
  
Crowley hadn't been returning his calls. And it had been the better part of a week since they'd last spoken.  
  
It was important to let the demon have his space, of course, but their mutual defiance of Heaven and Hell was still so fresh, surely Crowley would have been cognisant of that and answered Aziraphale's calls if he'd been able to.  
  
Then again, he might have decided that Armageddon was exhausting business, and that he needed to take a nap for a decade or nine.  
  
Aziraphale certainly hoped not. He'd had some terribly lonely moments the last time Crowley had done that.  
  
His concerns brought him to the flat in Mayfair. He just needed to be sure. If Crowley was asleep, then - well, not _fine_, but at least then Aziraphale's nerves would be soothed. If not… the longer Aziraphale dithered, the more he would berate himself for not doing something sooner.  
  
He knocked on Crowley's door.  
  
"Crowley, are you in? It's Aziraphale." He winced at himself. _Of course it's you, you dolt, you've known each other six millennia, he knows what you sound like by now!_ "I'm so sorry to trouble you, it's only… you haven't been returning my calls, I just wanted to be sure everything was all right. May I come in?"   
  
He waited a minute, but there was no response. Before he could let himself waver, he squared his shoulders and miracled the door open.  
  
"I don't mean to intrude…" Aziraphale began, then stifled a gasp as he stepped over the threshold of Crowley's flat, immediately sensing something amiss. Crowley's aura was definitely present, but so was something else - something predatory, hungry. Something powerful. Something truly _demonic_.   
  
There had to be another demon in the flat. The waves of malevolence rolling around in the flat were nothing like anything he'd ever felt coming off Crowley.  
  
It was none of Aziraphale's business, he tried to reason with himself, if Crowley still wanted to consort with other demons. He smothered the longing ache that tugged at his gut, desperately writing it off as the space where a human stomach would be being upset with him for overindulging on sushi at lunch. Crowley was well within his rights to have friends other than him; Aziraphale would have to be some sort of monster to begrudge him that.  
  
Still… the other demonic presence wasn't exactly coming across as _friendly_. Aziraphale would be remiss if he didn't make sure that his best friend wasn't in some sort of trouble.  
  
He took a deep breath and stepped further into the flat.   
  
The demonic energy seemed to be concentrated somewhere past the living room. Aziraphale had a vague sense that Crowley's bedroom lay that way; he hadn't had much occasion to visit Crowley's flat, so he wasn't entirely sure as to its layout. Generally, it made more sense for them to return to the bookshop after a night out, with Crowley driving himself home after, rather than dropping Aziraphale off or leaving him to the tender mercies of the public transportation system.  
  
Aziraphale kept his footfalls silent as he crept down the corridor, unable to keep himself from shaking his head fondly at the… _evocative_ statue of the two angels wrestling. He didn't call out to Crowley, just in case something nefarious was afoot.  
  
The bedroom door was slightly ajar, the demonic presence growing noticeably stronger, and before his trepidation could get the better of him, Aziraphale nudged it open. The hinges knew better than to let themselves squeak, and swung silently inward to reveal Crowley lying on his bed.  
  
Lying _naked_ on his bed. With a thick set of manacles tethering both his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, no less, cock flushed an angry red and jutting vaguely skyward with arousal.   
  
Colour flooded Aziraphale's cheeks. He was very obviously interrupting.   
  
He began to soundlessly back out of the room, but it dawned on him that although the other demonic aura was stronger here than anywhere else in the flat, he couldn't see anyone else in the room, demon or otherwise. In any case, what reason could Crowley have possibly had to manacle _himself_ to the bed? It didn't make any sense - the presence was twined so closely with Crowley's, impossibly close if the other demon wasn't right on top of him, _inside_ him. Aziraphale blushed harder at the mere thought, and he tried to pull his mind away, but it wandered traitorously further down that path. It was almost as if-  
  
"Assziraphale."  
  
His name came out as a hiss, and he almost didn't realise that it had come from Crowley at first.  
  
"So sorry," Aziraphale began babbling the moment he realised. "You're quite clearly… ah… _otherwise occupied_, I-I'll come back some other time-"  
  
"_Assziraphale_," Crowley hissed again, more emphatically this time. "You need to leave."  
  
"Yes, yes, of course, terribly rude of me," Aziraphale replied, still very much frozen with his hand clutching the doorknob.  
  
Crowley began to strain against the manacles holding him down. "Why are you still ssstanding there, _go_, before I get any worse-"  
  
"…Worse?" Aziraphale asked, quietly, suddenly fearful. His gaze swept over the room, but there was still no further sign of the other demon. "Crowley, what's going on?"  
  
Crowley yanked harder at his restraints, the metal biting in, slicing through his corporation's skin. Black ichor bubbled out of the abrasions like an oil slick. "_Get out_, angel, it's nothing, don't worry about me, I don't want to hurt you-"  
  
Alarm bells rang through Aziraphale's head, and he found himself bustling over to the demon's side. "Crowley, what's happened, maybe I can do something to fix it."  
  
Crowley began laughing hysterically, the sound devolving into a sob. This close, Aziraphale could sense the other demonic entity even more strongly than before. Almost like _it_ was laid out on the bed beside him, rather than Crowley. His brow furrowed, lips pursed in concern and confusion. It didn't make any sense.  
  
Until, with horrid, sudden clarity, it did. The other, malevolent presence wasn't _inside_ Crowley.  
  
It _was_ Crowley.  
  
"Angel, pleassse," Crowley begged, tears streaming from his eyes. They had gone full-on snake, not even a hint of white left. "Leave me here, while you ssstill can."  
  
"I will do nothing of the sort," Aziraphale told him crossly, incensed that after everything they'd been through, Crowley would think that Aziraphale would abandon him.  
  
He would never do something so cowardly as that again.  
  
"Please, pleassse go," Crowley wept, and Aziraphale's hands fluttered uselessly, distraught at seeing his friend in such a state. "I'm not going to be able to control myssself much longer. I don't want to hurt you, I can't, I won't forgive myself, please jussst _go_!"  
  
"Crowley, could you just tell me what's happening?"   
  
"Hell, is what's happening! You have to go, it's not sssafe."  
  
"Hell did this to you?" Aziraphale's gaze was drawn involuntarily to Crowley's cock, still standing stiffly to attention. He forced himself to drag his focus back up to Crowley's desperate, blown out eyes. "…_What_ did they do to you, precisely?" he asked, but he wasn't so innocent that he couldn't make an educated guess.  
  
"Beelzebub showed up, spiked my drink with something." Shame clouded Crowley's features and he turned his face away. "They said, seeing how I want you so badly, I should just go ahead and take you." He swallowed thickly.   
  
Aziraphale stepped tentatively closer to the bed. "How long has it been, since Beelzebub did this to you?"  
  
He managed a vague shrug, and almost could have pulled off nonchalant if not for the sweat gathering on his brow. "Dunno. When was Tuesday?"  
  
"You've been like this for _four days_?"  
  
Crowley shut his eyes. "Felt like longer," he muttered, pulling against the manacles. More ichor trickled down his wrists.  
  
"Crowley, you're hurting yourself," Aziraphale protested. "What if…" He fought the instinct to gulp nervously. "What if I gave myself to you willingly?" It only seemed fair. It was Aziraphale's fault that their relationship hadn't progressed to an amorous stage before now, anyway.  
  
Crowley's eyes shot open again, giving him a terrified look. "Aziraphale, no. I won't be gentle, like thisss. 'S why I tied myself down. It'll be brutal, and cruel, and I don't want that, angel, you deserve ssso much more. I'm begging you, you have to leave. Take yourself on a whirlwind tour of the Milky Way, gallivant off to Orion's Belt, I don't care, jussst get yourself as far away from me as you can."  
  
"We both know that won't do any good," Aziraphale said gently. "You'll miracle yourself free of those manacles and find me, no matter where I go." A sad smile tugged at his lips. "You've always had a talent for finding me. No, I think it best we got this done before you deteriorate any further."  
  
"It'sss too late for that, just fucking _leave me here_!"  
  
"I know!" Aziraphale brightened suddenly. "I could try to heal you! Now, hold still, my dear, this may sting just a bit…" He laid his hands gently on Crowley's chest, over where a human heart would have been, a soft, golden glow emanating from under his fingertips.  
  
The manacles securing Crowley to the bed snapped. Crowley seized Aziraphale's wrists and they both went crashing to the floor, Aziraphale crying out as the back of his head slammed against the concrete.  
  
"Oh, angel," Crowley purred, his tone on the amused side of mocking, "You _really_ ssshould've run while you had the chance."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for anyone coming here from the kinkmeme: I've combined parts 3 and 4 into one chapter.

Crowley shredded Aziraphale's lovingly maintained clothes with a rough miracle, nearly two centuries of careful maintenance destroyed in seconds. Aziraphale shivered with shock at the callous destruction of his treasured coat, long enough for Crowley's nails to thicken into claws, scratching a demonic symbol into the soft flesh of Aziraphale's chest. Crowley smeared some of the ichor still dripping from his own wrist into the golden light welling up from the sigil, and the darkness spread along the carved lines, searing Aziraphale's skin as it went. The angel cried out, trying to miracle away the burning pain, only to find his access to his powers completely cut off. He looked up at Crowley in horror.  
  
"Can't have you running out on me, can I, angel?" Crowley's grin was all fangs and sharp teeth. "Don't worry, I'll break the sigil once I'm done with you. If I'm satisfied with your performance."  
  
"Crowley," Aziraphale tried shakily, pressing his hands up against the demon's chest. "I know you're still in there. Please, I know you can do this gently. I'm willing to help you, truly I am. You only need to remember who you are."  
  
Crowley chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "Oh, I know who _I_ am. You so often delight in telling me. Demon. Ssserpent. _Foul fiend_." Crowley's claws dug into the soft flesh of Aziraphale's belly. "I think the more interesting question is, who are _you_?"  
  
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Aziraphale told him feebly, doing his best not to cower in the demon's grip.  
  
"Come on, _angel_, we both know you're only hanging on to that title by a thread. The way you eat, the pure _Gluttony_ of it, it's _obscene_… it assstounds me that you haven't Fallen yet." Crowley smiled cruelly, voice becoming speculative. "Maybe that's not enough of a Sin. I wonder if Lust will do it?"  
  
"Crowley, I lo-"  
  
Crowley threw his head back, laughing, and the admission died on Aziraphale's lips. "Don't embarrass yourself, angel. We both know that if what you felt for me was _love_, you would've done something about it by now. No. You, my filthy little hedonissst, are _awash_ with desire for me." He trailed down past Aziraphale's hip, taking hold of his cock. "What other use would you have for _thisss_?"  
  
Tears slipped from Aziraphale's eyes. Any words he might have in response crumbled to ash in his mouth. What could he possibly say? That it was for aesthetic purposes, to fill out the line of his trousers, that he'd certainly never _used_ it? While all technically true, it didn't explain the way it jumped and began to plump at Crowley's touch.  
  
God help him, he wanted this, had wanted this for so long. Just not like _this_.  
  
He'd wanted sweet admissions of love, gentle touches, tender explorations of each other's bodies, both physical and otherwise. He'd wanted to hold Crowley close to him, press soft kisses against his auburn hair, let the demon bask in the love and affection he'd been so cruelly denied. He'd wanted to whisper apologies against his pale skin, let Crowley know how sorry he was for his own cowardice, his own callousness in ignoring the love between them for so long.  
  
Instead, he'd been cursed with this, this mockery of everything Aziraphale held dear.  
  
"What?" Crowley smirked down at him, thumbing at the head. "Nothing to say?"  
  
Aziraphale blinked away the tears, the mark on his chest throbbing. "I forgive you."  
  
Crowley went still, something undefinable flickering through his eyes, and for a heart-stopping moment, Aziraphale thought he'd gotten through to him.  
  
Then, the demon snarled, rising, seizing Aziraphale by the hair and tossing him bodily against the side of the bed. Instinctively, Aziraphale tried to pull himself upright, but there was already a clawed hand closing around the back of his neck, bending him over against the mattress. He bit his lip to keep himself from asking the demon to be gentle. With the state Crowley was in, it was entirely possible he'd receive a harsher punishment for daring to ask such a thing.  
  
"Wonder what'll happen to your general sense of sanctimoniousness once your wings are as black as mine, hm?" Crowley asked. The hand around Aziraphale's neck loosened, trailing partway down his back to the space where his wings would sprout from when visible in the physical world. His other hand retook its earlier position, curling possessively around the angel's cock. "When you can't pretend anymore that you're above stooping to my level."   
  
The dark silken sheets slipped away under Aziraphale's fingers as he scrambled to get a hold on something, to anchor himself.   
  
Aziraphale knew, despite what every other celestial and infernal entity seemed to think, that nothing about loving Crowley would ever make him Fall. Angels were beings of love, after all, he was fulfilling his divine purpose if he was in love. It didn't matter that the object of his affections was a demon.  
  
Still, Crowley's insistent glee that Aziraphale would Fall by the time the demon was done with him struck a painful chord.  
  
"I could make you show them for me," Crowley hissed, increasing the pressure between Aziraphale's shoulder blades. "I could make you watch as they _burn_."  
  
"Please," Aziraphale whispered. "Please just be done with it."  
  
The soft chuckle in his ear chipped away at what little hope he had left. "Not a chance, angel. I'm going to take my time with you."

Aziraphale could have handled it if it was just physical brutality. He'd been a heavenly soldier, once; it had been a long time ago, true, but his deceptively soft body still knew how to withstand pain.  
  
What was truly breaking him now was the way Crowley was speaking to him, words more exacting than any blade, engineered to cut to the heart of all of Aziraphale's secret doubts and darkest fears.  
  
That Crowley loved him wasn't in question. Aziraphale knew that for a fact.   
  
What had truly terrified him, what had kept him _going slow_ over the centuries, was the poisonous thought that a demon's love might well entail exactly the sort of domineering display he was currently being subjected to. That Crowley himself would only be able to be certain of his love once he'd subjugated Aziraphale entirely. It had only ever been the smallest of doubts, but now Aziraphale could feel that seed taking root, feeding off the terror welling up inside him, unfurling its spiky tendrils and constricting around him.  
  
"Say you're mine, angel," Crowley crooned, swirling a miracle-slicked forefinger - mercifully human-shaped once more - around Aziraphale's puckered entrance. "Just admit what a _slut_ you are for me."  
  
"I've always been yours, Crowley," Aziraphale told him shakily. "As you are mine. That is something pure, it doesn't mean either of us can claim ownershi-" The angel cut himself off with a shout, Crowley's finger pushing past the resistance of the tight ring of muscle.  
  
"That's not what I asked for," Crowley murmured, slowly beginning to thrust. "Don't try to dress it up like it's something _holy_. If it were, why haven't you done anything about it before now?"  
  
Aziraphale trembled, hating the fact that to an extent, Crowley was _right_ \- whilst Aziraphale was certain God wouldn't cast him out for this, the other angels would ostracise him for consorting so intimately with a demon. Aziraphale was a people-pleaser at heart, he wasn't sure he'd be able to take it.  
  
He smothered another shout as Crowley slipped a second finger into him, curling them just so, and if Aziraphale weren't already face-down on the edge of the bed, he would have collapsed down onto it. His cock, trapped between the mattress and his own body, throbbed, and it took all his self-control to not roll his hips back against the intrusion.  
  
Would it really be so bad, though, to enjoy this? It would almost definitely make Crowley feel better, after, if Aziraphale had been a more enthusiastic participant. He had been so strident in his begging, before, that Aziraphale get away, and keep himself safe. Surely it was the least Aziraphale could do, to somewhat ease Crowley's anguish in succumbing to the demonic influences that he'd had no chance of fighting off to begin with.  
  
But what if the demon then got it in his head that this was how Aziraphale would want it, every time - this lustful entanglement, rather than adoring demonstrations of love?  
  
No. Aziraphale wouldn't be able to cope with that, he knew he wouldn't. He had to cling onto the Crowley he knew, the Crowley he loved. The Crowley that would never force him like this.  
  
_I love meeting him in the sunshine at St. James Park,_ he told himself. _I love going on picnics, dining at the Ritz. I love Rome and Paris and Wessex and-_  
  
His thoughts scattered for a moment as Crowley's fingers withdrew, the demon pushing him up onto the bed, getting him onto his hands and knees. Aziraphale's breath picked up unnecessarily and he buried his face in the crook of his elbow, smothering a whimper as Crowley's cock pressed into him.  
  
_I love going on drives in the Bentley, even if he drives it like a maniac. I love the way he always swoops in to save me when I need it most. _  
  
_ Almost always. _  
  
He let out a choked sound as Crowley reached down to stroke Aziraphale's leaking cock once, fingers damp as he shifted his grip to the angel's soft waist and began to fuck into him.  
  
_I love the fact that being a demon doesn't get in the way of his compassion, that he is, despite all his protests, a nice person. It's really more admirable for him to be caring than me. It's in my nature to care, it's not in his, but he does it anyway._  
  
_ For all the good it's done him. _  
  
No. Couldn't think like that. Couldn't pay attention to the satisfied grunts above him as his hole was stretched open, couldn't pay attention to the clawed hand clamped far too tightly around his neck, couldn't pay attention to the bruises he could already feel forming under his skin.  
  
_I love… I love him. And I know this isn't him. This is only what the other demons think he should be, this isn't who he is._  
  
"You've gone all quiet on me, angel," Crowley mused. His hand raked harshly down Aziraphale's side, golden lines trailing from under his claw-tips before grabbing at his thigh, piercing the skin. "Don't tell me you're not _enjoying_ this?"  
  
_This isn't who he is._  
  
Crowley laughed. "Don't worry, we both know you are," he said, tone full of mock-assurance as he slowed his thrusts and reached down for Aziraphale's cock once more. Despite everything, Aziraphale felt himself responding to Crowley's expert ministrations.  
  
_Please, Lord,_ he prayed silently, desperately, not knowing whether She would listen, not knowing whether She could even hear him when he was cut off from his divinity like this. _I don't know how much sway you have left over him, if any, but please allow him to forgive himself for this._  
  
Crowley's fingers moved up from his neck, twisting their way into Aziraphale's curls and pulling, ripping a sharp cry of pain from the angel's throat. Fresh tears welled in his eyes.  
  
_Please forgive him._  
  
The demon's hand was incessant on his cock, and there was nothing Aziraphale could do as he was dragged ever closer to completion. He did his best to hold back, to stave it off, but all it took were a few hours that stretched out like millennia.  
  
"Crowley!" he cried out, voice a strangled sob, and came. The demon milked him through it, then let go of Aziraphale's cock in order to get a better grip on the angel's plump hip, slamming into him all the harder. Aziraphale's arms gave out, chest dropping against the shameful wet patch he'd made. Still Crowley fucked into him, not caring that Aziraphale was now keening from overstimulation, seeming only concerned with his own satisfaction.  
  
After what felt like an eternity, Aziraphale felt Crowley's pace stutter, felt heat spill into him. The demon bit down on Aziraphale's shoulder, hard. Possessive. Marking him, _claiming_ him.  
  
"_Mine_," Crowley hissed as his tongue flicked out, lapping up the golden blood staining Aziraphale's skin, his own fangs.   
  
Aziraphale shuddered and closed his eyes, sending up one final, desperate prayer that he could just have his Crowley back.  
  
The demon went suddenly, completely still, then all but wrenched himself out of the angel, scrambling backwards and fetching up against the far bedpost. The explosiveness of his movement meant that Aziraphale was inadvertently, roughly shoved onto his side, making the angel whimper as his aching body was jostled. Crowley gave him an increasingly horrified look.  
  
"Aziraphale-" he choked. I'm… I'm so, so _sorry_, angel, I didn't want… I didn't mean-"  
  
"Crowley," Aziraphale cut across him, voice reedy and thin. "The sigil, if you'd be so kind…"  
  
Crowley stared at the angel, not processing, only seeing the devastation he'd wrought on his best friend's body, the bite marks, the bruises, the deep, still-bleeding scratches, _how had he allowed himself to do this-_  
  
"Crowley, _please_."  
  
"Right," Crowley forced himself to say, throat sticking, stumbling on his knees towards the stricken angel. He cringed when Aziraphale flinched just the slightest at his approach, hating himself even more as he willed the nail on his forefinger to sharpen again. The angel gasped as Crowley's claw slashed through the blackened symbol on his chest, breaking it. His angelic Grace flooded back to him instantly, and he set about banishing all evidence of what had just transpired, conjuring a set of clothes onto himself once he was done. They were so close in appearance to the ones that had been destroyed earlier than no one but Aziraphale or Crowley would have been able to tell the difference.  
  
"There we are, much better," Aziraphale said, smoothing down the familiar-seeming worn velvet of his waistcoat, the smile he gave Crowley only wavering slightly at the edges. "Thank you, my dear."  
  
The demon made a pained noise. How could that perfect, ridiculous angel possibly think it was okay to _thank_ Crowley for anything, after what had just happened?  
  
Aziraphale's gaze grew concerned. "Crowley? Please say something. I know… I know neither of us wanted it to happen like this, but you must believe it wasn't your fault." He tentatively reached out, eyes filled only with love and compassion, none of the revulsion or fear that, by all rights, should have been overflowing within him. Crowley shrunk back, and the wounded look Aziraphale gave him just made him feel worse. "Crowley, please. This was Hell's doing, not yours. I do not blame you for this."  
  
How could the angel sit there and forgive him so easily for being such a _monster_?  
  
Crowley broke, and with a click of his fingers, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale stared at the space where Crowley had just been, the rumpled sheets, the stains - both angelic blood and otherwise. He stood, moving gingerly even though he'd eliminated any residual physical pain from his ordeal. He straightened his waistcoat with trembling hands, and with a click restored the bedding into something presentable. The soft tartan blanket that found itself draped over the foot of the bed was largely by accident.  
  
That left him with nothing but the realisation that he needed to figure out where Crowley had gone, immediately. Thankfully, that wasn't a particularly arduous task.  
  
After all, you couldn't know someone since the dawn of mankind without learning a thing or two about how they thought. Aziraphale had a pretty solid idea on where Crowley would have headed, and it wasn't anywhere good.   
  
Well, it _was_ somewhere good. Which was precisely the problem.  
  
He just hoped he'd be able to find the demon before he did anything truly reckless.  
  
\-----------  
  
Every atom of Crowley trembled as he stared down at his reflection in the deceptively placid waters of the baptismal font.  
  
It would be so easy. Just close his eyes and lean forward, let himself be obliterated. Let himself do the right thing for the right reason, for once in his entire existence.  
  
Or just dip his hand in, let the cleansing divinity race up his arm and consume his entire body. Let him feel his end approaching for a few glorious, burning moments before he was swept away entirely.  
  
Wouldn't it be better that way? Wasn't it the honourable thing to do? Aziraphale would never have to worry about Crowley turning on him like that ever again. After all, if Hell could get to him once, they could get to him again. There was no assurance that they wouldn't do it just to spite Crowley and Aziraphale both.   
  
The consecrated ground nipped at his heels through his snakeskin shoes, but he didn't move save for his uncontrollable shuddering.  
  
He couldn't bring himself to do it. It was a coward's way out, and while he would be the first to admit that he was a coward, he also knew how Aziraphale would react to the fact that he'd destroyed himself. He knew that no matter whether Aziraphale forgave him or not, the angel would still blame himself for Crowley's destruction. Crowley couldn't bear the thought of doing any more harm than he already had. Even if it meant that he had to live with what he'd done.  
  
He turned his face toward the vaulted ceiling. "I know you've got your bloody _ineffable_ plans and all, but really, what _possible _justification d'you have for letting this happen? How could you let this happen to him? He deserves so much more than that." The breath that he didn't even need caught in his throat. "So much more than me."  
  
Something dropped into the water of the baptismal font. Crowley looked down, following the sound, just in time to catch sight of another one of his own tears breaking the surface tension. He hadn't even realised he was crying. He wondered vaguely whether demon tears would do anything to counteract the effectiveness of the holy water, but didn't much feel up to testing it.  
  
"Crowley, please. You mustn't."  
  
His grip tightened against the marble. Of course Aziraphale had followed him. He couldn't possibly be allowed to wallow in his disgusting self-pity with some dignity, could he? "Get out, angel."  
  
"Of course. After you."  
  
"'M fine up here, thanks."  
  
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."  
  
Crowley sighed, shoulders hunching, but he let go of the rim of the font. He didn't bother miracling away his tears as he turned around. No point trying to hide what a repulsive wreck he was.  
  
Aziraphale, on the other hand, was as resplendent as ever. He even had his wings out, snowy white symbols of his unblemished divinity. He supposed the angel was doing it to assure Crowley that he hadn't Fallen, but it only made Crowley feel worse, reminding him that he'd done his damnedest to obliterate the purity within him.  
  
"D'you want," Crowley sniffed flatly, not quite meeting Aziraphale's eyes. He could still see the tender expression on Aziraphale's face. He could also see the trepidation lurking just beneath it, the fear. You didn't know a person for six millennia and not learn to read their facial expressions.  
  
"I'd much rather we had this conversation away from something that could destroy you, if you don't mind," Aziraphale said reasonably, his reassuring smile belied by the anxious waving motion he made with his hand. He glanced down at Crowley's shoes and frowned. "Aren't your feet being scorched?" The momentary confusion vanished and his face went slack. "Crowley," he began unsteadily, "Do you mean to tell me-"  
  
"Don't worry, I'm in excruciating pain, I can assure you," Crowley told him, voice level, lips twisted sardonically. "Really, Aziraphale, what about my recent conduct could _possibly_ have made you think that Heaven would go, _my goodness, we simply _must _have him back_?"  
  
"Oh, dear, we must get you out of here at once, then!" Aziraphale bustled towards him.  
  
Crowley recoiled, barely even noticing the alarm flash across the angel's face as his back hit the edge of the font. How could Aziraphale possibly want to _help_ him after everything, let alone go near him?  
  
"Aziraphale, don't-" he protested, but they were already standing in the bookshop. The angel looked visibly relieved to be away from the church and the danger it posed to Crowley's ongoing survival.  
  
"Your poor feet, let me get a look-" Aziraphale tucked away his wings, pushing Crowley towards a plush reading chair that had conveniently started existing behind him.  
  
"No, stop, I've got it," Crowley said waspishly, clicking his fingers in a quick miracle. "See?"  
  
The miracle hadn't healed his feet. It had, however, made a suddenly startled pigeon outside release the contents of its bowels on an unfortunate passer-by.  
  
But the angel didn't need to know that.  
  
If Crowley wanted to punish himself a little more, that was no one's business but his own.   
  
Aziraphale huffed at him. "I do hope you weren't sincerely considering dipping yourself in that holy water, were you?" His tone softened as he went, sitting down as another reading chair made itself available.  
  
Crowley sank a little in his seat. "Might've, a bit," he muttered, looking everywhere but at Aziraphale. He wished he'd conjured a pair of sunglasses in the church. He was feeling raw and unprotected without them, and it seemed a little rude to miracle up a pair now.  
  
The angel reached slowly for where Crowley's hand perched on the arm of his chair, eyes silently seeking permission. He didn't move away, and Aziraphale seemed to take this as a tentative acceptance, closing the distance. His plump hand was warm and soft as it curled gently around his fingers.  
  
_Would you look at that, you're finally holding hands. Is it everything you ever wanted?_  
  
Satan, his mind was an interminable dick.  
  
"Crowley." Aziraphale spoke his name with a level of tenderness that he didn't deserve. It made Crowley physically hurt. "My dear, you are the last person that should be punishing yourself over what happened. Hell is to blame, not you."  
  
"Angel, what I said, what I _did_… How can you act like that doesn't _mean_ anything to you?"  
  
"Ah." It was Aziraphale's turn to let his gaze slide to the side. "I was rather hoping you wouldn't remember the details of what happened."  
  
Crowley somehow managed to find it in himself to laugh. "Oh, yes, Hell would definitely let me off that easily."  
  
"It was cruel and cowardly, for them to do what they did," Aziraphale agreed. Crowley could practically feel the angel trying to latch on to anything about the situation that they were on the same page on.  
  
"You know you're allowed to hate me," Crowley told him with forced levity. "You'd be more than justified."  
  
The words were meant to be absolution. They only seemed to break Aziraphale's heart.  
  
"Crowley," he murmured, shifting closer, both of his hands covering Crowley's when he tried to pull away, softly stroking over his knuckles. "I could never hate you."  
  
It was all getting to be too much. "Angel, please, you don't have to do that."  
  
"I'm not quite sure what you mean, but I think I'd best keep on doing it. I forgive you, Crowley. It wasn't your fault."  
  
Crowley shot up out of the chair, ripping himself free of Aziraphale's gentle grip. "_I don't want your forgiveness_," he hissed. "Give me your wrath, your _fury_, yell at me, strike me down, just… _anything_ but your compassion and understanding. Please." The hiss faded from his voice, and now he just sounded desperate. "I can handle anger, but I can't handle what you're giving me right now."  
  
Stunned silence was all that greeted him. Crowley set his jaw and turned to leave.  
  
"Do you want to know why I never acted on the feelings I have for you?" Aziraphale asked him softly.  
  
Crowley stopped, clenching his fists, nails pressing little crescent moons into his palms. "Because I'm a filthy demon that couldn't possibly comprehend or ever deserve love?" he retorted, tone bitter, eyes downcast.  
  
"No, Crowley." Aziraphale took a deep breath. "It shames me to admit, but I didn't act because I was too frightened to. I was afraid that your demonic nature would mean that love, for you, would be synonymous with domination. That if I had ever wanted to leave, or wanted something less, you wouldn't have allowed it."  
  
Crowley nodded without lifting his gaze, swallowing thickly. "Then I went and confirmed your worst fears. Right. I'll just-"  
  
"You did exactly the opposite, my dear." The demon looked at him sharply, and Aziraphale gave him a gentle smile. "Seeing the way you've been tearing yourself apart over what happened, that you even contemplated using-" The smile wavered and he blinked back a sudden bout of tears. "I'm truly sorry to have ever doubted your intentions towards me. I know you don't feel that you deserve my compassion and understanding, but I'm afraid I can't offer you anything less. _I love you_, Crowley. Unconditionally. And I know you love me too." He stepped closer, slowly lifting a hand to cup Crowley's cheek. The demon flinched, but seemed incapable of pulling away, instead leaning into the touch with a desperate yearning. "And I know, despite what _opinions_ any outside forces might have about it, that love is _pure_."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"   
  
"Because I know _you_, Crowley. Better than I know any angel, or demon, or even God Herself."  
  
Crowley's throat was drier than the desert surrounding Eden. "You don't mean that."  
  
"I do," Aziraphale told him firmly. "I doubt Hell factored that into their nasty little plan."  
  
"What if they try this again?" Crowley challenged, spreading his arms wide. "You yourself said it, I was powerless against whatever they dosed me with." His voice cracked. "I can't let that happen to you again, angel, I won't survive it." It was a selfish sentiment, but it didn't make it any less true.  
  
"Why would they? Their plan failed, any repeat attempts would suffer the same fate."  
  
"That just means they're going to try harder!" Crowley shouted desperately. "They're just going to come up with something worse!"  
  
"Let them," Aziraphale said, a sudden steeliness in his eye. "Just let them _try_."  
  
"Angel…"  
  
"I didn't help save this planet just to not have you by my side," Aziraphale told him firmly. "I will not allow Hell, or Heaven for that matter, to take this away from us. How dare they underestimate you. How dare they underestimate _me_." The tips of his platinum blond curls began to glow.   
  
"Who are they to say we don't deserve our happiness?"  
  
Golden light spread around his head like a halo.  
  
"Who are they to say you must be defined by what you are, rather than what you choose to be?"  
  
Crowley was forced back a step as radiance raced along Aziraphale's arms, spilling out of his fingertips.  
  
"What gives them the _right_?"  
  
The angel's entire body was incandescent, filling the room, shining off of the gilded lettering of the books on the shelves surrounding them.  
  
It was a truth that always existed in the back of Crowley's mind, but sometimes he did forget that Aziraphale had been created, originally, as a soldier. He hadn't seen the angel in action during the Great Rebellion, but he knew that Aziraphale had taken part in the battle, would have summoned lightning and thunder and holy fire to protect his home.  
  
The angel was more than willing to fight for what he believed in.  
  
And he believed in Crowley.  
  
Crowley fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the divine fury gathering around Aziraphale like a storm. Abruptly, the bright glow shut off.  
  
"Oh, terribly sorry, I got a bit carried away there." Aziraphale dithered, instantly slipping back into the comfortable skin of a fussy bookseller.  
  
"'S'alright," Crowley croaked, making no move to rise until Aziraphale's hands slid under his elbows, easing him back onto his feet. He noted absently that they didn't sting anymore, that Aziraphale must have healed them at some point during his display of angelic might. And Crowley had thought he'd been so clever.  
  
"May I kiss you?" Aziraphale blurted, brow pinching a little when Crowley just stared at him, clutching at his upper arms like he'd collapse without the angel's support. "Of course, if you're not ready for that, that's perfectly fine," he added hastily. "You must believe the last thing I'd want to do is rush you, only, it's just that we haven't done that yet, and-"  
  
"Aziraphale." Crowley's tone was fond as he cut across the angel's rambling. "I'd really love it if you kissed me."  
  
"-Oh. Jolly good."  
  
Crowley snorted, but moved into the touch when one of Aziraphale's hands rose to cup his cheek, the other curling softly against his chest. Crowley's arms curled around Aziraphale's shoulders just as their lips touched.  
  
It felt so pure and good that Crowley could have wept. He could feel the unequivocal love in the pressure of Aziraphale's lips on his own, surging into and through him, filling him to the brim. It was more than physical, unconfined by the limits imposed by their corporeal forms. Crowley felt it in the very core of his being, right down in his very _soul_ \- something he'd always been half-convinced had been left behind when he'd Fallen.  
  
"My dear, are you crying?"  
  
Crowley had been studiously ignoring that exact fact. "Shut up," he muttered against Aziraphale's lips. The angel pulled back so that Crowley could see the matching tears glimmering in his own eyes.  
  
"Are you sure I'm not going too fast for you?" Aziraphale asked with a small grin.  
  
Crowley laughed. The hypocritical bastard. "I love you, Aziraphale," he murmured, and leant in to kiss him again.


End file.
